


Blonde Hair and a Tan

by pyrchance



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rocky Horror AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrchance/pseuds/pyrchance
Summary: Andy has a plan. The Master has a party. Joe has a plant potent with poison.Patrick barely has a name of his own to hold onto. The last thing he needs is the Master's latest failed experiment growing too attached.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	Blonde Hair and a Tan

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Patrick's b-e-a-utiful Rocky Horror performance. Did you know this was originally going to be short and sweet? 
> 
> Whoops.
> 
> I guess my best excuse is that it really is a horror show from the creature's perspective.

“It’s not blonde.”

“There must have been an error in the genes processing. We can dye it.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not putting all this effort in just to have the final product be defective. Scrap it.”

“Master?”

“Aren’t you listening? Get that thing out of my sight!”

Patrick cowers and shakes and does everything he can to show his obedience until the second the Master disappears out the door. Then, Patrick straightens up and rolls his eyes, looking over at the poor experiment lying quivering on the laboratory table.

Patrick clucks his tongue as he walks over, stripping out of his gloves and mask and letting them drop to the floor. The Master’s latest creation is much of the same as the last few they’ve tried—tan, wide-mouthed, and young. His eyes are gold and wide as he blinks around the chamber, no idea that the dark curls on his head have just ruined any chance he had of a pampered life.

Or saved it. Patrick will have to thank Andy for messing with the latest gene ratios.

“Hey,” says Patrick, not surprised when it takes the creature a few seconds to learn how to tilt his head to look his way. “I’m Patrick. It’s time to get up now.”

The creature stares at him for a long time. His eyes are shiny—probably he hasn’t figured out blinking yet—but eventually Patrick sees the words process. That’s nice too. Not having to teach the experiments how to speak from scratch saves a lot of time.

“Ah—‘trick?” the creature croaks.

Patrick nods his head and tries for his patience. It’s been a long night and Patrick still has the clean up to take care of, not to mention making sure the Master’s temper is smoothed. He wishes Andy were here. Andy is always better that managing the experiments once the Master is through with them. Patrick suspects the others can sense that his heart isn’t really in it.

Still, he tries.“Yup. Patrick. Now up you get. You need to bend these—those are you knees—and use your arms. There we go.”

With the skittishness of a newborn colt the latest experiment gets himself sitting up, gold eyes still welding onto Patrick’s face. “Uh huh,” says Patrick, sliding a hand around the experiment’s back and bracing. “Now comes the walking part. Ready? Three. Two…”

There is something to be said about the Master’s proclivities towards tight muscle packed into small bodies. This newest creature is nearly as short as Patrick which makes it easier when Patrick tows him around until his knees stop buckling with every step. It only takes them one lap around the lab before the creature is walking mostly on his own, if with his arms spread wide for balance.

“There you go,” says Patrick, letting go. “You’re growing up already. Time for you to go.”

“Go?” echoes the creature. He’s a babbling one. They’ll have to watch that.

“Time to go to work,” amends Patrick.

He tries not to feel charmed when the new creature slips his hand into Patrick’s palm as he pulls him out of the laboratory.

There’s no use getting attached to failed products.

One week later, the Master announces that he’s throwing a party so Patrick is very busy.

The Master is almost always throwing some kind of party so Patrick is almost always very busy, but still. The truth of it remains even when Joe finally tracks him down and scowls at him and levels an accusing finger.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Patrick sighs and continues taking stock of the storage cabinet where Andy’s latest shipment has come in. They’re short on embryonic fluid and lamb’s blood—again. Patrick shakes his head and makes a note to order the next shipment himself. For a genius scientist, Andy always tries to skimp out of the non-vegan materials.

“I’ve been busy, Joe,” Patrick says, not looking up.

Joe huffs and collapses on a chair nearby the cabinet. They’re in a small room set off from the main cellar where it’s cool and dark enough to store materials that don’t need the fridge. Joe sits close enough that Patrick can smell the dirt on him, no doubt dragged in from the greenhouse outside—and leaving a mess for Patrick to clean up.

“Take your shoes off the table,” Patrick grunts when he hears two thumps from above. He’s only partially mollified when two more thumps hit the floor.

“You promised me and Andy you’d come out last weekend,” Joe reminds him, still pressing. “We had things to talk about.”

“We had an experiment last weekend.”

“Not _all_ weekend,” Joe insists. “What’s up, Patrick? You thinking of backing out on us?”

Patrick finally looks up from his sorting to glare at Joe. How an ordinary hitchhiker like Joe—brown hair, bored eyes, casual disregard for all of the rules—ended up serving in the Master’s castle is a story Patrick doesn’t want to know. Patrick is just glad he hasn’t found Joe in the freezer yet. It was…difficult making a meal out of that kind of meat last time.

It must help that Joe works outdoors and barely ever ventures inside. It’s possible the Master has mostly forgotten about him. Joe is hardly his type. Still, Joe ought to know better than spouting off like that where anyone can hear him.

“Shhh!” Patrick says quickly, hushing him.

Joe rolls his eyes. “There’s nobody here. No one comes down to this awful cellar but—“

“Shut up!” hisses Patrick, because he’s heard something. He’s sure he has.

Joe must sense that Patrick is serious, because he sobers. Patrick gets up silently from his crouch near the shelves and creeps towards the open doorway. Of course Joe didn’t think to close it. The gardener is a goddamn _slob_.

Glaring a warning back at Joe, Patrick carefully opens the door and peers out into the hallway.

“Patrick!”

The Master’s newest creature spins and beams at him. His golden eyes are light and cheery. Patrick’s shoulders release the barest amount of tension. He waves off Joe who has quietly snuck up behind him.

The creature’s wide mouth is doing its work. He looks different than in his moment of creation. Someone has straightened his hair until it dangles over his eyes and dressed him in the standard gold uniform. He’s holding a mop and a bucket and Patrick glances down and relaxes an inch further when he sees the line of dirt the poor thing must have been following in from Joe.

“Hello, there,” greets Patrick, stepping out into the hall and closing the door to a crack behind him. “You look busy.”

“I’m working,” the creature reports happily.

“I can see that. Well done.”

The creature nearly shimmies with praise. Patrick isn’t surprised. The Master doesn’t like to see his failed experiments. Andy almost always assigns the ruined ones to the more far-away type of jobs where they’re less likely to get underfoot.

“I have a name now too,” announces the creature. Patrick’s eyebrows rise. It’s rare to see that sort of initiative in the experiments. Still, this one is new. It’s not totally surprising he hasn’t lost his happy sheen. Patrick decides to humor him.

“Oh yeah? And where did you get that?”

“Andy gave it to me,” the creature declares. “It’s just mine and nobody else’s, except that sometimes people will use it. That’s what Andy said. But it still belongs to me.”

“Andy is a smart person,” Patrick allows. He hears Joe clear his throat behind him and watches the creature’s eyes flicker over his shoulder. Patrick grinds his teeth.

“What are you doing?” the creature asks, leaning in curiously.

Patrick forces himself to smile, swearing he’s going to kill Joe the second he’s able. The man has _no_ sense of discretion. None.

“Just working,” Patrick says. He tugs the door fully closed and steps even closer to the creature. He pulls him away from the door with a hand on his arm and pretends not to notice the way the creature jumps when Patrick touches him. “Anyway, didn’t you have a name to tell me?”

The creature looks delighted. He looks down, almost shy, at Patrick’s hand on his arm before he nods.

“Well?” prompts Patrick, squeezing. It’s cheating, but he knows he’s distracted the creature enough when a blush blooms on the thing’s nose.

“It’s Pete,” the creature nearly whispers, and then, lowering his voice a pinch more he adds, “Andy wanted to name me Peter, from a book, but I got to change it because it’s mine. Andy says so.”

“Pete,” Patrick repeats. The creature’s answering smile is blinding. Patrick tries not to let it charm him, remembering that charms are all these creatures are built to have.

“Well, Pete, I’m in the middle of work, so I can’t talk right now. But it is very good to see you again, okay?”

Pete blinks at him. “It is?”

“Sure.” Patrick squeezes Pete’s arm again, before letting go and stepping back. “We can talk more when I’m not so busy with work. After all, you’re busy too. I’m sure you’ve got more work to do.”

“Oh,” says Pete, looking down at the floor as if remembering how he got here. “Yes. Andy says I’m supposed to clean.”

“Andy is a smart man,” Patrick says again and steps back to close the door. “I’ll see you later then, Pete.”

He closes the door on Pete’s bewildered, blossoming smile.

Patrick gets some inclination that this latest party is not going to be like all the other parties when the Master comes down to the lab.

The Master is a genius, Patrick has no doubt about that, but his genius is dulled by his hedonism. Patrick can’t remember the last time the Master saw an experiment all the way through without foisting off most of the work onto Andy or, to a lesser extent, Patrick. Oh, the math might be the Master’s, but the actual physical work? The measuring and the slicing and the delicate balancing of the scales? Andy has been taking care of that since before Patrick was even around.

But apparently the Master has had a _vision_ and has been struck with _inspiration_ and Patrick doesn’t know entirely what that means except that apparently everything he and Andy have been doing is all wrong. The Master strolls around the laboratory jumping from enraged to ecstatic in bursts. Andy is a mind too important to hurt, but Patrick mostly just turns the knobs. It’s easy math to see who gets which side.

After a long day of walking on glass, the last thing Patrick wants to see when he finally drags himself away from the lab for the night is a creature standing standing outside his bedroom door. Pete’s head whips up to find him the second his feet cross the last stair.

“Patrick!” exclaims Pete, beaming once again. Patrick isn’t in the mood.

He hides his wincing as he shuffles forward, keeping his head low and knocking Pete’s hand away when it comes up to touch him. His skin is tender enough as it is. “What are you doing up here, Pete?”

“You remembered my name!”

“We just met last week. You shouldn’t be up here unless you’re working. It not safe on the upper floors.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of the stairs anymore. I can climb them just fine now. Ask Andy.”

“That’s not—“ Patrick stops and sighs. There’s really no point. “What do you _want_ , Pete?”

“I was looking for you!” Pete says brightly, rocking back on his heels. He doesn’t seem to notice Patrick’s increasing glower. “I’m not working right now and the others are really boring. They just go to bed and sleep right away and no one wants to stay up and talk. Andy says you go to your room when you’re not working too so I thought I’d wait out here until you came up. We can talk now, right?”

Patrick barely hears any of that. His room is kept away from the others for a reason. It’s not like Patrick enjoys living in the highest tower of the stupid castle, but he likes the distinction it gives him. He might not be in one of the Master’s bedrooms but he’s not a stable boy like Pete. Andy doesn’t have the right to go spreading around where he sleeps.

“ _Andy_ told you how to find me?”

“Well, no.” Pete’s smile finally dims. “But I checked all the other rooms. The others said you got your own.” He looks down but doesn’t go away even with the way Patrick glares at him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Patrick grunts, pushing past Pete to get to his door.

Pete wilts even more, shoulders practically hunching to the floor. Still, he doesn’t stop talking. “Oh. But you said we could talk later?”

“I absolutely did not,” Patrick snaps. Pete shrinks, as expected, but doesn’t cower or move away. Patrick forgets what it was like to be that young.

“But you said,” repeats Pete. “You said we could talk. You said not _right now_ , but that means later. And it’s later. You were going to bed, but you’re not sleeping yet. And we’re both not working.”

There’s a sulky note in Pete’s tone. Something that has Patrick growing angry before he even knows it. What is Andy thinking coddling the thing? The Master might not be interested _now_ , but when he’s bored? When he sees Pete scrubbing the floors the next time? When he happens to be walking by with violence in his hands?

“Go away, Pete.”

“But—“

“Now, Pete!”

Pete’s teeth click shut. He scuttles backward when Patrick yells. Patrick feels an instant stab of what might be guilt, but buries it away. Pete’s eyes are wide again. At least he knows to be scared of yelling.

Patrick turns away before he can soften. He hears the slip of Pete’s bare feet fleeing and tells himself that it’s for the better. The further away they all are from each other the better. Patrick knows better than to get attached.

There’s no lock on Patrick’s door, but a slip of paper flutters down from the hinges when he turns the knob. It helps him breathe out, even though his room is no happy place. No one’s been inside since the morning but him.

As he strips out of his uniform to address the bruises left on him, he ignores the little voice in his head telling him he has just proved himself a monster once again and digs around until he finds his first aid kit. There are something, he knows, that can’t be stitched back together. Luckily, he’s not one of them.

The dogs howl that night.

Patrick wakes in a cold sweat with the first signs of barking. There’s an old scar on Patrick’s hip that throbs hot, but Patrick forces himself out of bed and to the window regardless.

Predictably, the grounds are laid out dark and deep beneath the castle. He stands there for a long moment, squinting for the signs of a light or movement. He’s shivering.

Time slips by and nothing stirs. Patrick steps back and closes the window and the shudders and his curtains on top of that. He crawls back into bed and doesn’t let himself think about it. Not about Joe sleeping in the gardener’s shed somewhere out in the darkness. Not about Andy who sometimes takes midnight walks, perimeter checks disguised as jogging. Not about the failed experiments—Pete and all the others—locked in their rooms or the stable or running through the night.

He wonders if it was more a mercy when they didn’t know how to scream.

“Joe’s fine,” Andy says to him when Patrick comes down to the lab the next morning. Patrick just makes a bee-line for the caffeine Andy already has brewing and doesn’t answer. He didn’t sleep a wink. Not that it matters. They don’t talk about this. “I talked to him this morning. Early. Someone broke curfew, but he’s not sure who. He thought it might have been you.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I told him that. He’s just nervous. He thinks he has enough to harvest soon and he’s worried about you getting cold feet. If you’re not up for the task—“

“I said that I would help.”

“We’re not asking you to help, Patrick. We’re talking about you poisoning your—“

Andy doesn’t get a chance to question him any further before the Master strolls in. Neither Patrick nor Andy are expecting it. The Master ordinarily sleeps until at least noon.

The Master doesn’t seem to notice the stiff way Patrick stands beside the coffee. He merely strides across the room and snaps at Andy to get him the latest readings. Patrick silently puts the coffee pot back down and goes to back out of the room, only for the Master to turn around on him the moment he moves.

“My gloves! _Hurry,_ boy! Don’t make me sic my puppies on you too.”

Patrick’s limbs go numb. So it wasn’t an intruder. Somehow, despite Andy’s speculations Patrick had been wishing it was.

Patrick scurries for the Master’s gloves, then his mask, then his apron. The Master has him dress him with more kneeling and skin caressing than the task necessitates, but Patrick puts on his dullest expression and bares it. He’s never quite sure when the Master will be done with him. Every time they meet, Patrick holds his breath like it’s his last. He’s never quite sure which way of the coin toss he’s wishing for.

He ties the apron around the Master’s waist and leans in to press his lips against the Master’s exposed shoulder. He ignores Andy’s presence across the lab, shoving down his shame. Andy has no idea what it’s like to be Patrick. No idea what it’s like not to be real.

Patrick shivers cold when the Master’s hand comes up and tangles in his hair. He’d had it dyed a long time ago to blonde, but the color had quickly faded back to Patrick’s natural red at the same rate as the Master’s interest. Patrick doesn’t need to look at the Master’s face to see his disappointment. He’d woken up on the slab to it after all.

“So close, pet,” the Master says, gripping Patrick’s chin and running a thumb across his lips. “Just a few small adjustments and—“

“Excuse me, sir. This measurement seems off.”

The Master whips around. “Fix it,” he barks. Patrick’s chin is released. He doesn’t rub his aching jaw.

“The scale isn’t right. It needs more plasma.”

“So _get_ some, you idiot!”

“We’re out. Your latest calculations called for more than what I had brought up from the store rooms.”

“Useless!” hisses the Master. He snaps his fingers at Patrick. “Go! Bring up the whole lot. I won’t have my beauty delayed before my party.”

Patrick doesn’t know whether to laugh or snarl at Andy’s interruption. The stupid scientist probably thinks he’s helping. He has no idea what the Master becomes when he’s stopped before he gets what he wants. Not that anyone is really stopping anything, just delaying the inevitable.

Patrick doesn’t look at Andy as he goes. He just goes.

He makes it just down the stairs before arriving at a scene from a horror show.

There are blood stains in the foyer. Patrick doesn’t want to look at them. He would ignore them entirely, except he hears the sound of someone crying.

Patrick doesn’t need to see him to know who it is. Sensitivity doesn’t last long in the castle. There’s only one living thing in the castle new enough not to know better.

“Pete?”

The creature is on his hands and knees by the open doorway. There is gore smeared into the tiles there and dripping on the steps just outside. No doubt the others brought the body back in once the dogs were done. Pete must not have made any friends with the others if they set him on cleaning up the mess all by himself.

Pete’s eyes are wide, wide, wide and his smile is all gone. If Patrick thought Pete had looked young before it’s nothing to the haunted shadow across his face as he stares up at Patrick.

“Patrick! Patrick Patrick Patrick. I don’t—I don’t know how to—“

“It’s just a stain,” soothes Patrick swiftly, stepping over the blood smeared stone to get closer to Pete. “You need to be quiet,” he hushes as he crouches down beside Pete. He’s not totally sure why. Maybe he just wants to prove he has the capacity to care. “You can’t be making noise like this. It attracts attention.”

Pete’s whole body is shaking. No one has given the thing gloves even. Patrick can see blood smeared under his nails where they grip the sponge. There’s a line of on his cheek, like he went to wipe his eyes and forgot.

Patrick gets it for him. Pete leans in to the hand on his face even as his eyes flicker, jumping to and from Patrick like he can’t quite believe he’s here.

“He was just lying there,” Pete whispers. His eyes shine as he looks down at the blood again. “He wasn’t moving. He was just _lying_ there and I didn’t get it. I didn’t get why he didn’t just stand up. Standing up isn’t even that hard.”

“Don’t think about it,” Patrick advises, stroking his hand down Pete’s neck. He glances over his shoulder, but the stairs are clear. So is the hallway to the kitchen. They’re alone, for now.

Pete continues to shake. “I—The others told me you can get hurt sometimes. If you do something wrong or—or—or if the Master isn’t pleased. Did he? Did he do something wrong?”

“Maybe,” Patrick admits.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yeah.”

Patrick sighs. He’s been here before. He’s given these words away before, not even that long after Andy gave them to him.

He thinks back to the way Andy had held his hands the first time the Master beat him. Patrick doesn’t really remember the beating anymore, just the absolute terror and confusion that had seized him. But he can’t forget the way Andy had pressed a name into Patrick’s skin and given him something secret to hold onto. He hadn’t understood at the time. Language hadn’t come built in. But he remembers understanding the stern yet gentle cadence of Andy’s voice and his grim determination to make Patrick better. Patrick had tucked those sounds away in himself to hold onto later. The problem is, Patrick doesn’t know if he has any of that determination left to share.

“You’re going to be okay,” Patrick says. He tries to taste whether or not the words feel like lying. Words have never been his first language. “Stand up. Come on. Up you get.”

With Patrick’s coaxing Pete slowly gets to his feet. His eyes are still locked on the bloodstains. “I’m supposed to clean up the mess.”

“I’ll take care of it. Listen. I want you to go and see the gardener, okay? His name is Joe. Tell him Patrick sent you down to relax.”

“Joe?” parrots Pete.

“The gardener,” affirms Patrick. He tugs Pete away from the scene, carefully pushing him towards the front door stepping. “He lives in the little cabin just inside the tree line. You can’t miss it.”

Pete’s heals dig in when Patrick finally wrestles him to the door. “I’m not supposed to go outside.”

At least some of the rules have gotten through to his head. Too bad Patrick is going to make him break one.

“I know,” says Patrick, rubbing Pete’s arm soothingly. “It’s just for a little while though. Just until the mess is gone. Remember to tell Joe that it was me that sent you.”

Pete just stares at Patrick like he’s speaking a different language. Finally Patrick gives him a little shove out the door. He stands there with his arms crossed and waits until Pete slowly turns and starts walking, only dropping his arms once Pete has safely reached the woods. He looks down at the blood with a sigh.

He has no idea why he just did that.

It takes Patrick too long to find one of the other creatures wandering near the kitchens and set them on the blood stains. By then, Patrick already knows he’s left the Master waiting for far too much time. He isn’t surprised when the whip comes down on his back as he returns. He just grits his teeth together and concentrates on not biting off his tongue or dropping any of the plasma he’d gathered from the cellar.

“You’re the worst kind of useless,” the Master says dispassionately after his arm gets tired. He scoffs when Patrick shuffles forward on his hands and knees, but lets Patrick kiss his boots anyway and doesn’t even kick him away once he’s done. Patrick swallows down his bile.

“Sorry,” he gasps out. “So sorry, Master. Forgive me? Please?”

And Patrick tries not to feel sick when he leans into the hand that strokes his hair after that, ignoring Andy’s hard, blank stare from across the room.

It’s...harder, getting back to work after that. Patrick is used to the Master finding fault with him and dealing with it and then leaving. He’s not used to the Master continuing on in the lab, switching between little jabs at Patrick’s uselessness and tiny strokes of his fingers through Patrick’s hair in reward. The whiplash is disorienting. Patrick can’t keep up with it. He keeps his head down and tries not to think about how dizzy he feels from it all, reminding himself that he _knows_ this room and this place and his place within it. He isn’t _new._

“Soon,” the Master declares sometime after the moon has risen high in the sky and both Patrick and Andy have run themselves exhausted. The Master is in a state of mania. There’s no doubt about it. He lifts his latest concoction to the air before corking it with a gusto. “Just in time for the party.”

Patrick hasn’t caught all of the scientific jumbo but he knows enough to pay attention when Andy states, “Your vision has certainly…shifted since the last one, sir.”

The Master grins. “Oh. If only you could see my vision! I am sure that _this_ time I’ve got the formula just right. There will be no more failures mucking about my floors embarrassing me.”

The Master sees the way Patrick’s face sinks and chuckles, drawing him back over with a hand on his hip. “Oh, not _you_ , pet. You’re quite the little prototype. It’s hardly your fault you’re abysmal.”

Patrick forces himself to swallow. “Thank you, Master.”

The Master grins at him and pinches his hip before letting him go. He spins on his heal, waving a hand has he goes. “Just a few more days, gentlemen. Pet! Make preparations for the party.”

Patrick is quiet when the door swings shut behind the Master. He feels, more than he sees or hears, Andy approach.

“Don’t,” says Patrick, immediately when Andy touches his shoulder. The scientists’s grip doesn’t loosen. Patrick pretends he doesn’t lean into it.

“We need to talk about this,” says Andy. “He’s escalating again. Joe and I have are nearly ready with the plan—“

“I caught Pete cleaning up blood in the foyer,” says Patrick, turning around until Andy’s hand finally falls off him. “Guess it’ll be mystery meat for dinner.” He looks up up in time to see Andy’s face slacken in horror. Patrick only lets himself feel vindictive for a moment, before shoving that emotion down too. “Yeah. So save it. I know what the plan is.”

After a few long seconds of silence, Andy sends him a shrewd look. “You know Pete’s name.”

“He talks,” Patrick shrugs, refusing to look away from Andy’s assessing stare. “Now lets go. I sent him out to stay with Joe and don’t even want to know what he’s been filling his head with.”

Patrick’s skin always crawls outside of the castle. He knows it’s just a reaction to bad memories, but he can’t help but think that maybe he was simply built wrong. Maybe Patrick was never meant for the outside world, like his skin was made allergic to the touch of the sun and moon.

Luckily, Joe’s cabin really is only just beyond the castle doors. It reeks like Joe’s usual mix of herbs as he and Andy push through the door, Andy in front politely ignoring the way Patrick is stepping on his heels. Patrick isn’t surprised by the big goofy grin Pete gives him as he walks in. His pupils are blown wide.

“Patrick! Andy!”

“Pete,” Patrick sighs, looking around the room until he spots the gardener chopping some sort of green in the kitchen. “Jesus, Joe, how much did you give him?”

“Apparently, he was on orders to relax,” Joe says dryly, not stopping chopping. “You’re welcome.”

“Well, good job. You’ve managed to relax him right out of his skull.”

Andy meanwhile is taking in Pete’s presence in the cabin with a pinched, thin mouth. The rebuke he glares at Patrick is expected and Patrick tries not to let it dig into him. He stopped following around Andy like a lost puppy a long time ago. He doesn’t need to explain himself.

When Andy shakes his head and goes to whisper furiously at Joe in the kitchen, Patrick ignores it all and steps up to check on Pete. The poor creature is practically folded in half on Joe’s shoddy sofa, feet kicked up over one arm and the rest of his body good and well slouched into the cushions. He’s wrapped up in a heavy knit blanket he’s pulled all the way over his head. It’s he first time Patrick’s seen Pete without an inordinate amount of skin on display. It makes him seem more human, which Patrick knows is the point.

“Patrick,” Pete repeats happily as Patrick pulls up one of Joe’s wooden chairs and sits down near the sofa. “Patrick, your friend is so nice.”

“How are you feeling?” Patrick asks, not looking for to the kitchen to see if Joe and Andy are watching. He knows they are.

“Joe says I’m _hiiiigh_. It’s like—It’s like what it felt like to breathe the first time. Did you feel that? Everything is all tingly and sweet. My head’s gone all still.”

“That’s good,” says Patrick and deliberately places and hand on Pete’s shoulder. He ignores how manipulative it feels when Pete goes still and expectant under his palm. “Listen, Pete. You and me aren’t supposed to be out here, especially not at night, so this is going to be a secret, okay? Andy explained about secrets, right?”

“Like my name,” Pete says, nodding. He’s half whispering too, which Patrick takes as an encouraging sign.

“Like that,” Patrick agrees, “but this one is even more secret that the other one. You can’t tell the others either. Not about going outside or about being here with me and Joe and Andy. This is a secret just between you and me.”

“Like my name,” Pete says again. Patrick frowns, not certain that he’s got it, when Joe and Andy come back in.

“How about a little heads up before you start sending me these guys?” Joe says sitting down in the chair opposite Patrick and slumping down. He’s rolling something small between his fingers. A vial of some kind. “I’m not exactly set up to be an underground railroad.”

“A what?” asks Patrick.

Andy, meanwhile, smacks Joe upside the head. He comes around and takes the last chair, angling it towards Pete. He stares hard at the hand Patrick still has on Pete’s shoulder before Patrick remembers himself and retracts it. He ignores the way Pete’s dopey smile dims or the way his own face heats.

“How are you feeling?” Andy asks, getting straight to the point.

Pete rolls around to look at him, clumsy in the way that reminds Patrick too much of the first time he every saw him. He can’t help but notice that Pete smiles at Andy with the same ease he does to Patrick.

“I’m good. Joe gave me medicine.”

“He’s high,” says Patrick, shooting another irritable glance at Joe.

“Fuck off,” Joe sings.

Andy ignores them both, leaning in. “You must be confused.” Andy is somehow softer and yet more hardened than any of them. Patrick doesn’t understand how he does it. He just knows Andy’s quiet voice is deceptive for the message it carries. “I understand you saw something very disturbing today, Pete. It’s okay if your upset or angry or scared. If you have any questions about it, it’s okay to ask.”

Pete just blinks at him, not sensing the danger. Too new—or too high—to perceive the analytical way Andy is staring at him. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to ask questions?” he says.

Andy frowns. “That’s a castle rule. Do you remember when I told you about the rules? Remember how I said that there are different rules inside the castle than outside of it?”

“And I’m not supposed to go outside,” Pete agrees, nodding solemnly. He looks pleased to have remembered.

It takes him only a beat for Pete’s face to crack into an expression of absolute, dawning realization as his own words strike him. He sits up, blanket tumbling off of his head. “I went out. Andy. Andy. I’m outside. I’m not supposed to be outside. That’s—That’s _bad_. The Master is going to be so _mad_.”

There’s a distinct drop in the atmosphere of the cabin. Patrick’s stomach clenches, while Joe and Andy share another look over Pete’s head. Patrick can’t watch them deliberate over it.

“It’s not bad,” says Patrick, and all three heads snap to him. Patrick grits his teeth and doesn’t look away form Pete to check the others’ reaction. He’s not interested in their opinions. “You were doing what I told you to do. That’s a good thing. If anyone was being bad, it was me. It’s—If the Master asks you about it, you tell him it was me.”

Pete’s eyes are wide. They’re not, Patrick notices, confused though. For all he’s new, Pete isn’t stupid. “You’ll get in trouble,” he whispers. “That’s not—You were just helping me. I wasn’t doing my job.”

“It’s fine,” says Patrick. “I’m older than you. I know what I’m doing.”

“But—“

“No one is getting into trouble,” Andy interjects, frowning at the both of them. “If any one asks, _I_ am the one that brought you two out here. You were helping me carrying in herbs from the garden.”

Patrick looks at him sharply. That’s a boldface lie, but he holds his tongue as Pete visibly relaxes. He and Andy both know the Master would never buy that, but some of the stress seems to have finally caught up with Pete. He’s very nearly collapsed on the sofa as the stress oozes out of him.

“We should go,” Patrick decides quietly.

“Don’t,” says Joe. “You can stay. I don’t like you walking around at night and we’ve been wanting to talk to you anyway. I’ve got extra blankets.”

Patrick shivers and shakes his head. “The Master won’t like it if he found us out of bed.”

Joe yawns. “Sure, but how would he even know?“ Joe yawns.

He doesn’t seem to notice the suddenly tense way Patrick sits, hands curled into fists on his knees. Sometimes, Patrick wonders if Joe really has a clue what happens in the castle at all. He is, after all, only human.

“Joe,” rebukes Andy sharply.

Joe sighs and thumps his feet to the floor, getting up. “Yeah. Alright. Gimme a second. If your gonna use me as an excuse, you might as well carry in the latest batch anyway.”

Andy escorts them both back to their beds when they get back inside. The stable is quiet when they watch Pete crawl into his bunk. It’s not really a stable in the traditional sense, but the long line of beds crowded into one room as been called that since Patrick can remember. The other creatures are too used to each other returning late to bed to do so much as stir. Patrick tries not to think about the way Pete’s eyes follow them as they close the door.

When they reach Patrick’s tower, Andy finally lays into him. It starts, as it usually does, with a hand on Patrick’s elbow. Patrick quickly brushes him off, putting distance between them. Mixing kindness and punishment just messes with his head.

“You shouldn’t have brought him outside,” Andy says quietly, crossing his arms once he’s been refused. Patrick mimics him. His nails bite into his arm where Andy can’t see. He doesn’t know when things got so tense between them.

“He doesn’t know what any of it means,” Patrick defends, but even to himself it sounds weak. “He’s new. He’s barely two weeks old.”

“He’s smart,” replies Andy, “and he talks.”

“I can keep him quiet.”

Andy doesn’t ask him how. He just stares at Patrick for a long moment and nods. “Fine. Just be careful.”

Patrick doesn’t ask him how to do the impossible either.

He finds Pete downstairs the following morning. The creature is standing in the ballroom, looking a bit lost as some of the others go about polishing the floors and hanging decorations. Patrick receives some looks as he comes in, but no one comes up to bother him.

When he snaps his fingers the movement halts. “I need one of you to come with me,” he says, banking his voice in a poor imitation of Andy’s authority.

The creatures stare at him frozen. They’re all variations of the same design—small, pliable, and doe-eyed—but they’re all different too. Patrick tries not to notice these differences. Tries not to make them distinct. He leaves dealing with the Master’s other experiments to Andy usually. They have no reason to trust him.

Patrick looks over at Pete. “You. Come on.”

He turns and walks out of the room. Seconds later, Pete’s bare feet smack on the floor behind him. Patrick leads him down to the cellar, what seems to rapidly becoming their home base. Pete is curiously quiet all the way until Patrick closes the door.

“Patrick?” Pete sounds uncertain. He’s not smiling at Patrick even now that they’re alone.

Patrick skips right ahead. “How much do you remember from yesterday?”

Pete’s gaze flickers around the storage room. He looks cold in nothing but his tiny gold shorts, arms crossed over his chest and his feet bare. Patrick sort of wishes he could get him a blanket like he had in Joe’s cabin, but that’s not an option for either of them.

Pete shrugs, dropping his eyes to the floor. Patrick stares at him, almost stumped. It’s the first time he can remember Pete not looking happy to see him.

“Listen.” Patrick moves closer, pleased when Pete’s gaze finally flickers up to him. He manages what he hopes is an honest smile. “I just wanted to check in with you. You were pretty out of it yesterday. I’m not sure how much you remember.”

“Are we in trouble again?” Pete asks quietly.

“We’re allowed to be in here,” Patrick reassures him. “Besides I told you, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just following my instructions.”

“The Master killed him,” says Pete.

“What?”

Pete shakes his head. His jaw clenches as he turns his head. “I—I remember the body. I asked the others this morning. The Master set his dogs on him. That’s what they said. They said it was because he went outside.” Pete shivers. Patrick can see where his nails dig into his arms. He shoots Patrick an unreadable look from behind his bangs. “Why did you make me go outside?”

Patrick’s stomach sinks. This is not how he thought this would go. Not at all. The small, scared creature in front of him is nothing of the smiling naive thing Patrick knows.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” says Patrick again. “It was my idea, remember? If anyone asks, you were just listening to me. You didn’t know any better.”

Pete’s mouth twists. He retreats a step away, eyes dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were,” says Patrick, stepping closer to him again. He places a hand on Pete’s arm, stroking him with his thumb. Pete goes stiff beneath him. “Pete—“

“Are _you_ in trouble then?”

Patrick jerks back at Pete’s venomous tone. His hand falls away. “What? Pete, no.”

Pete stares back at him, jaw a firm line of tension. For once, he doesn’t look young at all. “You’re breaking the rules. You are.” Pete’s breath hitches. When he talks next, it’s in a whisper. “You were being bad. You made me break them too.”

“To help you!” exclaims Patrick, throwing up a frustrated hand. Pete hunches under the force of it.

“You don’t even like me,” Pete mutters.

“That isn’t true.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I like you just fine.”

Pete, if possible, hunches even more. “I don’t even know why you’re talking to me. You don’t talk to the others.”

“Isn’t that proof enough that you’re different?” asks Patrick. Pete shrugs his shoulders and stares stubbornly at the floor.

This whole situation is so far out of Patrick’s control it’s not funny. He scrubs a hand down his face, almost laughing at the brazen way he’d promised Andy just last night that he’d handle this. Patrick knew better than this. He should never have gotten involved.

His options are limiting, narrowing down to a tunnel Patrick doesn’t want to go down, but knows he has no choice. He can’t—He _can’t_ risk Pete running his mouth. Patrick _knew_ better than to get this involved.

“Fine,” he says quietly. A stillness hangs over the room, punctuated by the two of their breathing. Patrick shakes his head, blocking out the voice in his head that looks down at Pete’s shivering form and wants nothing more than to rescue him. Patrick can’t even save himself.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I don’t like you. You’re exactly like every other failed experiment the Master has given up on. Your pathetic and useless and can’t even do your one simple job. There’s nothing special about you. Not even the Master thought so.”

Pete’s eyes jump off the floor. His mouth is loose, eyes wide as Patrick rakes a hand through his hair and steps back. If honey won’t work, the stick will have to.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” promises Patrick without inflection. “Just know that if you tell anyone what you saw or heard last night, it won’t be the Master’s dogs that get you.”

Pete’s eyes are wide and gold and terrified. He’s shivering for real now, and not just from the cold. “You—You _said_ I wasn’t in trouble.”

“I lied,” says Patrick flatly, stepping away from Pete and opening the door. “You’re a smart thing, Pete. Now you know what a real secret is.”

In the days that follow, Patrick pushes all thoughts of Pete out of his head. With the party looming closer it’s easy enough to do.

The Master is in a particular frenzy the closer they get to creation day. There’s an energy to him when he gets like this that reminds Patrick of the early days. He’s almost all happy giddiness and ecstasy in the lab, dancing around and pressing delighted lips to Patrick’s neck whenever he happens to be near.

There must have been experiments before Patrick woke up, but Patrick never met any of them. He’s not sure exactly how old he is, it took him longer to comprehend the world than the Master’s more modern creatures, but judging by his count he’s seen at least a few dozen creatures born after him, most of which are no longer around.

He knows he’s lived long enough to be distinct from the other creatures, even by the Master. He wears real clothes for one, even if his clothes are only a tattered servant’s uniform. He’s got his own room and his separate little tasks in the laboratory and sometimes, yes, the Master even remembers his name.

“You look tired, Patrick,” the Master croons. The gloves he trails over the back of Patrick’s neck are cold. “Still having those nasty dreams?”

Patrick keeps his head down, pretending he knows why he’s shivering. “No, Master.”

“Did my doggies keep you up? You know they’re only here to protect us.”

Patrick doesn’t think about the dogs he’s heard howling every night. The master must be letting them roam the grounds freely. He hopes that’s all it is. He hasn’t done a headcount.

“Of course, sir.”

“You’re too sweet for the world outside,” the Master says, tugging Patrick back by the loops of his pants under their hips meet. Patrick knows his ear will be smeared red with the Master’s lipsticks before they’re done here. “Maybe I’ll come by and chase those mean doggies away, huh pet? Would you like that?”

Patrick shivers and hangs his head and doesn’t look at Andy at all standing barely ten feet away hearing every world. The Master’s palm curls over the bite mark on Patrick’s hip, calm and possessive and not at all accidental. It’s been a long time since he touched Patrick this deliberately for so long.

That night Patrick lays in his bed without sleeping. His room was the last gift the Master ever gave him, back when his hair was still that brilliant, platinum blonde. Once, he’d thought the indulgent yellow draperies and heavy golden blankets were proof of the Master’s devotion. He’d stroked them and thought of how lucky he was to be born so special. Now, he rarely thinks of his room as anything but the farthest thing from the front door.

Patrick doesn’t sleep that night, or the night after. He watches the door, which doesn’t move. He gets up and looks out the window. He listens to the dogs.

When the party guests arrive, Patrick is there to see the first car pull in. He doesn’t wonder if he is disappointed or relieved when the door to his bedroom stays firmly shut. He’s trying not to think at all.

Patrick has never quite sure how the Master gathered his eclectic group of followers. If they’re human, they’re strange, but if they’re not, they don’t seem to be one of the Master’s species as well. They seldom arrive alone, almost never during the day, and Patrick is never more grateful that he mainly works in the lab than when he hears their shrieks of laughter from downstairs.

Just like that, the castle goes from moody silence to a cacophony of voices and music. The main hall is quickly taken over by the party. Untouched rooms get turned over as beds are put to use. Patrick tries not to think about it as he stands behind Andy, passing him the tools he asks for while the Master struts around the room with an absolute zeal to his steps. The Master has always loved an audience.

The body on the slab is taking shape quickly. Patrick sees what Andy had meant about it being different. It’s taller for one, and the muscles are even more obvious. They have to wrap it up for the final stage of creation, so the true details of its appearance won’t be revealed until later, but the change does make Patrick nervous. For as long as he can remember the Master’s creatures have always looked at least a little bit like him.

Patrick is the one who gets the honor of wrapping up the body this time. The Master finally has gone down to the greet his house guests, leaving Andy and Patrick alone for the first time in nearly a week. Patrick isn’t surprised when he hears Andy’s come up behind him as he’s finishing bandaging between the new creature’s fingers. As he squeezes the poor thing’s cold hand something dark and heavy tugs in his chest. The creature has no idea what he’s going to wake up to tomorrow.

“Are you done?”

Patrick lets go, tucking the thing’s hand back to its side and turning around to face Andy. The scientist looks at him like he knows exactly what Patrick has just been thinking, but doesn’t say anything. Andy just reaches into his pocket and pulls out a skinny vial. A thick white liquid waits inside.

The weight in Patrick’s chest suddenly threatens to collapse him.

“That’s it?” he asks.

Andy nods grimly. “Joe finished processing the plants last night. I was waiting for the right time to share it to you.”

He holds it out for Patrick to take, but Patrick can’t quite make himself do it. He stares at the vial with a sudden exhaustion. He can’t quite meet the scientist’s eyes.

“You’re sure it will work? Joe said it wasn’t a real poison. Not for us. I know he’s different, but if it doesn’t…”

“I’ve tested the compound against what samples you managed to collect from the Master,” cuts in Andy smoothly. “From everything that I’ve seen, he should be dead within seconds if he gets a strong enough dose. ”

Andy tactfully doesn’t mention how they acquired those samples to begin with, for which Patrick is absurdly grateful. He nods slowly before reaching out for the tiny vial. It feels warm in his palm. Almost burning. According to Joe, the poison is nothing more than a common weed.

“How much will it take?”

“The whole thing.” Andy’s mouth tilts down. “It should be fairly colorless, but the odor may linger. If you can, be sure to put it into something strong.”

Weakly, Patrick manages what he hopes is a wry smile. “Wine over water. Got it.” Despite his bravo, he can’t take his eyes from the vial of poison. Eventually, he forces his fingers to curl over it. He breathes out long and hard, before looking up at Andy and nodding. “Okay.”

Andy reaches out and places a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. For once, Patrick lets him keep it there. “Wait until after the party. I don’t want any of the guests to know.”

Patrick nods again, abruptly too tired to argue. “And if it doesn’t work?”

Andy’s hand clamps down on Patrick’s shoulder. His face is grim, just like Patrick has always remembered it. Steady as a promise. “I’ll burn this whole place to the ground if I need to, Patrick. Don’t worry. We’re getting you out of here. All of you.”

Patrick closes his eyes and nods. He doesn’t stop Andy when he pulls him into a hug, even if the sensation of arms around him is suffocating and strange. Andy’s chest is warm to his ear. His heart reassuringly human and strong, nothing like how Patrick feels.

It’s been a long time since Patrick woke up from the slab. Sometimes, though, it feels like everything in the world is brand new.

Patrick makes dinner that night. It’s not his usual duties but he knowing what he knows about what’s in the freezer he can’t justify making one of the others do it. He wants access to the routine anyway, given what is now living in his back pocket. The sooner the others get accustom to his presence in the kitchen, the sooner he’ll be able to end it.

The ground floor is a ruckus of jaunty horns and instruments and peels of cackling laughter. Patrick has been avoiding it, not wanting to get held up by any of the Master’s wandering guests with wandering hands. Patrick isn’t a stable boy, but the party goes don’t know that. He doubts any of them can tell one experiment from another.

Joe comes into the kitchen while Patrick is still cutting up the meat. The face he makes when he sees what Patrick is working with would be almost funny if Patrick didn’t feel so close to throwing up himself.

“You should be outside,” Patrick says, glancing around the kitchen swiftly. There’s a creature on the other side of the counter preparing more drinks, but he smartly keeps his head down.

“Jesus,” Joe breathes, stumbling back looking sick. “I thought Andy was fucking joking.”

“Do you need something?” Patrick asks, leveling his voice low and polite. Empty of anything the creature in the corner would notice as odd.

“Uh, yeah. Shit. One second.” The gardener’s face is gray as he digs into the bag in his hands. He steps stiffly up to the table, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. Without looking, he hands Patrick tub of what looks like finely chopped herbs. “It’s for you guys,” Joe says quietly. “It’s got minor sedative properties.”

Patrick’s gaze sharpen on him. He glances at the creature behind him, before risking a small inch closer.

“Andy suggested it might help while we have…guests,” Joe explains quietly, lip curling around the word even as he looks like he’s struggling not to vomit. “It’s not enough to knock anybody out, but it might encourage them to sleep a bit deeper, you know?”

Patrick does know. He nods solemnly, closing the lid and wishing he could touch Joe right now to thank him. A hand on his arm. Anything.

“It will help,” he says instead.

Joe just nods, mouth-pinched. His eyes drop from the ceiling for just one second, on accident, before his entire face goes ashen. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I can’t—I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Go,” agrees Patrick. “You shouldn’t be inside anyway.”

Joe’s face melts in relief, but he hesitates before he goes. His gaze manages to scan Patrick, pausing for a moment on his face like it’s a puzzle. “Andy gave it to you?”

Patrick doesn’t answer aloud, glancing back at the creature still working down the counter before nodding once. The vial sits heavy in his pocket. Joe lets out a breath.

“Good. That’s—good. Are you sure you’re good?”

Patrick smiles grimly at him before looking down at his work. It’s just meat. It has to be. Even if Patrick never learned this creature’s name, doesn’t know why he suddenly decided to run, Patrick remembers wrapping this body up before its creation. It’s just meat. But it’s only fair that Patrick is the one that dismantles it so. “I’ve got it handled.”

The Master cuts into the meat with a flourish that has his party guests bursting into applause. Patrick hears the whirl of the electric meat cutter from the kitchen where he’s still cleaning up the blood stains on the counter. His head turns when he hears the door open, only to freeze when he sees Pete in the doorframe.

Pete’s arms are ladened with a tray of empty drinks. His hair, Patrick notices with a sickening feeling, has been dyed a bright blonde.

Pete makes it two steps into the room before he spots Patrick standing there staring at him. The haggard expression on his face quickly vanishes into a deliberate stiffness. Clearly, Pete hasn’t forgotten their last encounter either.

“Pete.”

“You cook now too?” Pete grunts, walking stiffly to the sink furthest away from Patrick and setting down the dishes.

All of the frustration Patrick felt towards Pete from their last interaction disappears as he stares at the way Pete’s blonde hair falls into his face. “Who did that to you?” he whispers.

Pete looks up enough to glare, half-confused, at Patrick. “What?”

“Your _hair_.” His voice cracks. Patrick is barely able to suck in enough oxygen through the nausea churning in his stomach. He can’t seem to look away from it. The blonde might as well be screaming _this isn’t right_.

“Oh.” Pete’s expression remains confused. His gaze travels up as if looking at the new color himself for the first time. “One of the others. I don’t know. The Master wanted everyone blonde for the party.”

“ _Fuck_.”

It hits him like a club. Patrick bends in half, suddenly emptying his stomach onto the kitchen floor. He doesn’t even try to make it to the garbage. His head is a rush of woozy heat. The bile burns as he rushes up this throat.

He startles when he feels hands suddenly on his back, but it’s just Pete. He’s tugged over to the sink where he clings white knuckled to the edge. Behind him, he hears the sound of Pete cleaning up the mess.

What seems like an eternity later, but must be no more than a few minutes, Pete returns to his side.

“Are you sick?” Pete asks in a timid voice more reminiscent of the young creature Patrick thought he once knew. He sounds worried enough that the rumors of what happens to sick creatures must have already gotten to him. In just over two weeks, Pete already knows what it means to live in fear.

“Not that kind of sick,” Patrick manages. He spits, then turns on the sink and cups enough water in his mouth to wash out the worst of the taste. When he straightens, Pete is right there watching him, hands hovering over Patrick’s arms like he’s not sure where to touch or if he should.

It’s the sight of Pete’s blonde hair again that sends Patrick right back into his panic.

“You need to get out of here,” Patrick hisses. He grabs Pete by the arms, ignoring the way he flinches back. Pete needs to hear him on this. “It’s not safe here. Not tonight. You need to go to Joe’s.”

Pete’s face shudders. One moment, he’s looking confused a little scared. The next, the concern in his wide-eyes dims, falling behind a flat expression that Patrick watches Pete deliberately pull on. “I’m not breaking any more rules for you,” Pete says stiffly.

Patrick shakes his head, squeezing Pete’s arms. “You don’t understand. It’s not _safe_ for you tonight. Please, Pete. You have to go. You have time to get out.”

Pete winces. Patrick’s must have been squeezing him too hard. He peels Patrick’s hands off of him, holding onto them even as he takes a step back, like he’s afraid Patrick will grab him again.“No. I’m not—I’m not falling for that again. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You’re already _in_ trouble,” Patrick snaps, growing desperate. He tries to close the gab between them, but Pete leans away, still gibbing his hands. The expression on his face is no longer just empty, but cold.

“And who’s fault is that?” whispers Pete.

“No!” barks Patrick, earning another flinch. He can’t get himself to calm down though. Pete doesn’t know what Patrick’s remembering. “No, Pete, that’s not what I mean. You don’t understand. They won’t—He’ll—You don’t know what they’ll do if—“

“I understand more than you think,” Pete snaps back, a crack of anger slipping through. Pete throws away Patrick’s hands, scurrying back from his quickly. Any concern he once held is gone, buried under what can only be anger and hurt. He learns quickly. Patrick didn’t know what it meant to feel angry for a long, long time. Pete shakes his head sharply, blonde hair whipping on his head. “I don’t want any more secrets with you, Patrick.”

“Pete.”

“No.” Pete takes another huge step backward, eyes on Patrick hard and accusing until Patrick stops walking. Pete swallows audibly, his whole body tensed. “I’m going to be good.”

“You don’t understand what they’re going to do to you,” Patrick says quietly, staring at him with a growing sense of despair. “Pete—Pete, you don’t _understand_. I’m just trying to help you.”

Pete’s mouth twists up bitterly. “There’s nothing special about me. Go make a secret with one of the others. I’m done getting in trouble with you.”

Andy finds him later, cleaning off the plates brought in from dinner. Like Joe, his face quickly turns ashen when he sees what Patrick is working with, but his time in the lab must have given him a stronger stomach. He walks up to Patrick and puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from finishing.

“Don’t _do_ that!” growls Patrick, shaking off the hand with a violent jerk. Andy raises both his hands up, face growing dark as he takes in Patrick.

“What’s wrong?”

Patrick laughs bitterly. He throws his sponge in the sink, ignoring the bits of gore on his handsas he turns around. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Have you looked around the castle today? Do you even—Do you even _see_ what’s going on?”

Andy frowns at him. He’s the only person Patrick’s ever seen with facial hair. It makes him look stern, even when he doesn’t mean to. Patrick’s not sure whether he means to right now. “You’re worked up. You need to calm down. The Master is requiring us in the lab.”

Abruptly, Patrick’s ire drops. “Already?”

“He’s gathering up the guests. It’s time.”

In the hallways, the castle seems to be flowing entirely upstairs. Andy and Patrick bypass the stairs, taking the elevator up to the laboratory floor. The Master is already there, pouncing around in his pink apron and gloves, grinning with all of his white teeth as they step out.

He pinches Patrick’s stomach as Patrick quickly hurries to the levers of the creation machine, purring in his ear, “Dinner was delicious, pet. Thank you.”

Whatever expression comes across Patrick’s face leaves the Master flouncing off, laughing.

Up on the observation landing the party guests are filing in. Patrick spots Pete getting towed in by a tall woman with her hands on his arm, but doesn’t have more than a second to catch the bewildered, uncomfortable expression on Pete’s face before the Master begins.

They don’t often present creations in front of a live audience. Patrick can only it happening once before and that was with his own creation. The Master gets worked up on the frenzy of it, feeding on the cheers of his crowd to zealous ecstasy as the experiment commences. Turning the crank fast enough to power the machine is exhausting. The sting of the Master’s whip doesn’t help. Patrick’s nearly shaking by the end of it, collapsing on the floor just as the machine gets enough to crack into life. He barely gets himself up in time to help Andy turn the knobs on the final stage of the machine, meeting Andy’s eyes across the expansive of the tank with the knowledge that whatever comes out of it neither he nor Andy had any chance to adjust. This new creation will be just as the Master wanted. A perfectly little prototype.

And then with a flash it’s over.

Patrick stumbles back from the tank as the Master crowds around it. The creature inside takes only seconds to come to consciousness. Desperate muffled groaning fills the antechamber. Andy is there with scissors instantly, cutting through the bandages over the creature’s face as the whole chamber fills with cheers from the observers. The Master pulls the creature out of the creation tank, the poor thing stumbling, tall and blonde and awkward, after the grip the Master has on his hand.

“Welcome—“ the Master declares to a flurry of applause. “Rocky!”

Panting back against the creation machine, it takes several long seconds for the words to register. When they do, Patrick can only gape in horror. The poor new creature is shivering in nothing more than loose bandages and tiny gold shorts, cowering under the force of the applause. The poor creature which has a _name_. A name the _Master_ has given it.

Patrick is going to be sick again. He can’t bring himself to get up. To move.

Motion rushes through the chamber as the Master makes his final bow, pulling the creature— _Rocky_ — into the elevator. Up above, the observation deck is emptying with more shrieks and laughter, noisemakers crackling and whizzing and whirling with their patrons’ delight. Patrick’s head swims in the noise. He’s barely able to keep to his feet before Andy is there, steadying him.

“Are you okay? Let me see your back. Is there blood?”

“He _named_ him,” Patrick gasps, pawing at Andy, turning towards his grip, desperate to see that Andy understands. “He can’t—He can’t—“

“Shh,” shushes Andy. He places a careful hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, pulling him into his shoulder just as the last of the guests go, leaving them in silence. His voice ruffles Patrick’s hair. His steady heartbeat seems terribly out of sync with the pounding Patrick’s ears.

“It’s probably a good thing,” Andy reasons quietly. “If he names him, that means he’ll want to keep him.”

“For how long?” Patrick demands, pulling back. He _needs_ Andy to understand. Just this one thing, he needs to know Andy understand this _one_ thing. Patrick swallows. “He’s going to have nothing once it’s over. Nothing. He’s not even going to have his own name.”

Andy’s hands smooth down Patrick’s arms, then reach up to cradles his face. “You’re hurt,” he says. The light in his eyes is kind, but Patrick doesn’t need kind right now. He needs Andy to understand. “Let me treat your back.”

“I’m fine,” says Patrick, but he doesn’t resist as Andy leads him back to the table the creature just left, having him lean against it as he fetches bandages for where the Master’s whip has broken his skin. The wounds aren’t terrible. Patrick was even clothed. There’s barely a trickle of blood down his spine as Patrick shifts against the table.

Patrick doesn’t like taking his clothes off, but he lets Andy lift his shirt. He doesn’t hiss even when Andy does, grumbling something ugly about their Master.

“Okay.” Andy breathes in heavily, like he was expecting worse. He presses his palm against the bandages once he’s fixed them to Patrick’s skin. “You’ll be okay. It’s not that bad. Are you feeling any calmer?”

“I don’t understand why he would do that,” mumbles Patrick, staring down at his lap. His thoughts are in a constantly loop of _Rocky, Rocky, Rocky_.

Andy strokes a thumb over Patrick’s skin, then rolls down his shirt. He starts wiping down the blood that dripped on the table with some spare bandages. He says softly, not looking at Patrick, “It’s just a name. He’s done it before. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“What?” Patrick jerks. It rattles the table. “No. _You_ name us.” Andy’s hands stall where they’re cleaning the mess. His gaze is on his work. Patrick breathes in sharply. “Andy?”

An expression Patrick’s never seen before sneaks its way across Andy’s face. It takes Patrick a moment to recognize it as shame. “Sometimes,” Andy confesses. He finally looks at Patrick. “Sometimes, he does.”

“No.” Patrick stumbles back, almost losing his grip on the table. “Andy. No. You name us. You do.” Andy watches him without moving, a helpless expression in his face. Patrick can’t stand it. “Who?”

“Patrick—“

“Who else did he name?” Patrick demands.

Andy stares at him a moment longer. There’s something sad there, and something else that looks a lot like pity. Patrick doesn’t want any of it. “There haven’t been many. Only what he deems are successes. They’re all gone now.”

There’s something else Andy isn’t telling him. Patrick edges back, shaking his head. Andy just stares at him morosely, but doesn’t try to follow.

“You named me,” Patrick whispers. “I remember. I remember it. You told me to keep it a secret. You told me it was mine.”

Andy shakes his head. Every breath of air leaves Patrick’s body. Andy stares at him, not coming closer, his face warm and kind and awful. “You were so different back then. You wouldn’t have understood.” Andy shakes his head again. “You’d run away. Do you remember? The Master had hit you for the first time and you’d ran and I found you in a tree in the woods after the dogs had come. You were barely conscious.”

Patrick shakes his head. He’s shaking from head to toe. That’s not what he remembers. That’s not how he remembers it. “No.”

“I took you to Joe and we patched you up. We weren’t supposed to help you. That was the secret, Patrick. Not your name. We weren’t allowed to touch you. You were his. His pet Patrick.” Andy spits the words. “He’d have killed all of us if he’d known.”

Patrick just continues to shake his head in blank horror. “You _named_ me.”

“I didn’t. You were just coming into language then. It wasn’t like how it is now. And it’s not like the Master bothered to teach you anything.” Andy’s lips are pressed tight. “You were delirious for days after the attack. When your fever finally broke and Joe and I smuggled you back into the castle , you kept it a secret, don’t you remember? You never told him who helped you. That’s how Joe and I knew you were special.”

Special. Patrick laughs. It’s a black, short sound. “My name is all I _have_. That’s all any of us have.”

Andy takes a huge step forward suddenly. Patrick jerks back so badly he smashes his elbow against the table and hisses. Andy freezes. His hands come back down, clenching at his sides.

“That’s not true,” Andy says furiously. “You’re a person, Patrick. You’ve always been a person. You’re far more than what he made you.”

Patrick just shakes his head one last time. His eyes are wide but he’s barely seeing anything. It’s like the whole world has gone gray and dark around him. “How would you know?” Patrick asks. “You don’t know the first thing about what it’s like to be me.”

Patrick stumbles out of the lab with a ringing in his ears. The party has died down to bouts of squeals and voices from different parts of the castle. He passes too many doors with their locks firmly turned. He knows the stable will be empty tonight.

He’s not sure exactly where’s he’s going except that he needs to find Pete. He needs to find them and they need to get out. Now. Before the Master wakes up and realizes they’re all obsolete.

When he finally stumbles into the main hall, it’s barely at half-capacity. The lackluster band has some mild dancing happening in the center of the ballroom. Patrick’s has a vague thought that Joe’s herbs must be working, but it comes with no real feeling of victory. All these people are just tired. Patrick wants them dead.

He shakes off the first woman that tries to grab his arm too forcefully, earning a yelp of surprise that draws eyes from around the room. Patrick stops before he collides with the first of the dancers, suddenly aware of more than a few curious eyes on him from both party guests and creatures alike. Patrick swallows suddenly, backing up from the floor until his back hits the wall. He struggles to pull on the blank affect of his position, knowing he’s barely succeeded. Down the hall from him, he spots an unaccosted creature with his arms full of drinks. His brown eyes widen as Patrick comes lurching towards him, snagging his wrist.

“Where’s Pete?” Patrick hisses.

The creature looks down at Patrick’s grip on his arm with an expression of extreme discomfort. His eyes bounce around the ballroom until Patrick shakes him. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Pete?” Patrick demands.

“Let go,” the creature finally whispers, breaking his composure to lightly yank his wrist in Patrick’s grip. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Yes. You do.” Patrick breathes out slowly, deeply, trying to regain his equilibrium. He’s never felt this out of control. Not that he can remember. Not that he can trust his own memories anymore. “Pete. He’s new. My size. Gold eyes. Wide mouth. I know you know him.”

“Oh.” The creature’s eyes widen again, this time with something other than surprise. He hunches almost defensively under Patrick’s impatience. “I didn’t know he had a name. He never told us. The Master hasn’t even come for him once yet. We didn’t think he was going to make it. ”

Something like relief crashes into Patrick. “What is he?”

The creature’s eyes narrow. He’s got sullen brown eyes that clash with the blonde mop on his head. Another dye job. The creature’s gaze flicks over the ballroom. “Let go of me and I’ll tell you,” he hisses. Patrick swiftly lets go, watching with almost guilt as the creature yanks his arm back and steps away from him.

It doesn’t stop Patrick from asking the question he’s most desperate for. “Where?”

“I saw him go upstairs. There was a couple interested in him. I think they were going towards the east wing.”

“Thank you,” gasps Patrick, already turning to go. He makes it just out of the ballroom when he hears a voice behind him.

“Wait!”

Patrick stops. The brown-eyed creature comes scurrying out after him. “What?” Patrick asks, impatient.

The creature is still balancing his tray of drinks as he comes forward but his eyes are fixed, almost angry, at Patrick. “What makes him so special?”

The question takes Patrick aback. “Nothing,” he says.

“You know his name,” the creature accuses. “You never know our names.”

Patrick stalls. He’s never seen one this worked up. Not before Pete. He turns back around fully, finally taking in the creature before him. He’s skinnier than most, paler, with long brown eyelashes and a narrow chin. He looks young, but not. Patrick’s probably seen him a hundred times before and never actually looked.

The question bubbles up on Patrick’s tongue without a thought. “What’s your name?”

The creature’s skinny shoulders tense. At the same time, his eyes widen. He shakes his head, looking around them, but the space is empty.

Patrick takes a deep breath, thinking of Pete’s face, thinking of the dull horror still clinging to him from the laboratory. He pushes them all aside. “Mine’s Patrick. I bet you knew that already though. Mine name isn’t that good of a secret.”

The creature flicks his hair irritably. There’s a soft, sour quality to his mouth. The more Patrick looks the more he sees. He thinks the details might drown him eventually.

“That’s different,” the creature dismisses. “You’re _Patrick_. Even the Master knows that.”

“So tell me yours and I’ll know it,” Patrick says. He’s not sure why this is suddenly important to him or why he finds himself stopping to do this, even as time slips through his fingertips. Maybe he just wants names to mean something to him again, even if his is ruined.

The creature stares at him. His gaze is so flat he almost resembles Andy. Finally, Patrick sees the thing shove his shoulder’s back, before giving a small nod. “I’m Ryan.”

“Ryan,” repeats Patrick. It’s impossible not to see the was Ryan’s creatures glows, just like Pete had, at the use of his name. Patrick makes himself smile. “Now we have a secret. Now you’re special to me too.”

Ryan’s eyes are huge. The tray in his arms tips for just a moment, sending a glass shattering on the ground. They both jump at the crack and just like that Patrick remembers exactly where they are and what he’s doing. He sees Ryan having that same realization.

“I need to go,” mutters Ryan, quickly drawing away.

“Wait,” says Patrick. Ryan freezes. Patrick almost can’t believe himself when he opens his mouth and says, “If you have others who are special to you, get them and get somewhere safe.”

Ryan’s soft mouth frowns. “The castle is never safe.”

“No,” agrees Patrick. “It’s not.”

He’s not sure Ryan understand when Patrick turns to leave, but that’s okay.

The whole castle will understand soon.

Upstairs. Upstairs the corridors are littered with party guests. Patrick opens doors without stopping to think about it, earning shrieks from the guests and wide eyes from the creatures inside. Some of them actually stop. Some of them are sleeping. Some of them are just piles and piles of bodies moving in ways Patrick doesn’t want to examine.

He clears the second and third floor quickly with no sign of Pete. He’s not in the east wing. He’s not even in the stables when Patrick peers in to check.

There’s only two places Patrick hasn’t looked. He can’t bring himself to step onto the Master’s floor though so he doesn’t. He climbs higher. As he breaches the last step of the tallest tower he hears wails from down the hall.

“Pete!”

Patrick’s bedroom door is open. The lights are on, drenching his room in garish yellow light. There are three bodies piled onto his bed. Two of them are dressed in the fancy clothes of the party, stacked on top of each other, and man and a woman. The last— Pete— is dressed in nothing.

Patrick doesn’t think. His hand reaches out and grabs the first object he can find. It’s a candelabra, already lit. He seizes it and charges at the couple without thought.

The woman topples shrieking from the bed. The man surges up like he’s going to wrestle with Patrick over it, before Patrick shoves the flames at his chest, catching the frilly green neckerchief around his neck.

“Out!” Patrick screams. “Get out! Get out!”

“It’s wild,” the woman squeals, clawing at her partner. He grabs her up by the waist and they run for the door. Patrick slams it behind them to a sudden drop in sound and action.

Then, there’s sniffling sounds from the direction of the bed. Icy chills douse Patrick’s rage. He drops the candelabra, rushing towards the bed just as Pete’s face screws up.

“I’m sorry!” wails Pete. “I didn’t mean to. They told me to take them to my bedroom but I don’t _have_ a bedroom. I thought—I _knew_ you weren’t using yours.”

“Shh,” whispers Patrick, quickly climbing onto the bed. His hands hover uselessly. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

Pete shakes his head, eyes wet and shiny. “I— The others told me what they’d want. They told me the Master would be first. That he’d show me what to do.” His face crumples. “I waited up all the time but he never came for me.”

Patrick breathes out slowly. “Fuck.”

He tips forward, burying his face in Pete’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Pete freezes underneath him for just a moment, before suddenly melting into the touch. His arms come up around Patrick’s shoulders. His head buries warm and wet in Patrick’s neck. For someone who’s never been given a hug before, Pete seems to know exactly what to do.

“I am so fucking happy he never came for you,” Patrick hisses, crushed under his relief, crushed under the hurt he’d spied on Pete’s face. How could everything come crumbling down so fast? Two weeks and Pete had turned Patrick’s entire life around.

“I think I’m in trouble again,” Pete whispers.

Patrick shakes his head against Pete’s shoulder, not breaking the embrace. “It wasn’t you. It was me. It’s my fault.”

“You always say that.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Pete freezes in his arms. Slowly, Patrick pulls back from the hug. Pete stares at him owl-eyed, mouth parted. Patrick traces his hands over Pete’s cheeks, wiping away the wetness he finds there. “I’m sorry. You are special. You’re special to me.”

Pete breathes in sharply. “I’m not.”

“You _are,”_ Patrick repeats. He shakes his head, almost laughing. “I don’t know why. You just are. You’re Pete.”

Pete stares at him like he did in the first moment they met, eyes wide and golden and shiny—almost shy. “You’re wrong,” he whispers. “You’re the special one. You’re Patrick.”

“You’re Pete.”

“Patrick.”

“Pete.”

Repeated, like a promise.

Their hands feel warm and nice on each other. Then, Patrick glances down and realizes Pete is entirely naked. Gooseflesh pimples his skin.

“Come on. Let’s get you dressed,” Patrick says. Pete follows him amiably from the bed, bending down for his uniform. “No,” says Patrick. “Not those. Take mine.”

He pulls his spare uniform from his drawers. It’s only black pants and jacket with a white shirt underwear, but it covers. That’s the important part. It covers him.

Patrick has to help Pete into the unfamiliar articles of clothing but it’s worth it. Pete looks like a person again, like he had that night in Joe’s cabin. He looks like someone who could walk out under the sky.

“I think this is against the rules,” says Pete, as Patrick does the buttons up on his shirt. Patrick smooths his hands against Pete’s clothed chest when he’s done, marveling at the feeling of smooth cloth over skin. He wants to cover Pete in _layers_.

“My fault.”

Pete frowns at him. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick says. He leans up and, just for one second, presses his lips against the corner of Pete’s lips. It’s a kiss, but not like one Patrick’s ever given before. He hopes Pete doesn’t hate it.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t look at Pete’s face, just listens to the tiny hitch in his breathing. Over Pete’s shoulder, Patrick sees that the candelabra tipped over precariously close to his bedroom’s luscious yellow drapery. Patrick closes his eyes for just a moment, tipping his head against Pete’s chest, before pulling himself together.

“I’m going to do something against the rules,” Patrick confides quietly, hiding the words in Pete’s chest. “I need you to get all the others to Joe.”

Pete’s arms tighten around him. “What do you mean? What are you going to do?”

“It’s a secret,” smiles Patrick, stepping back from him. He tugs on the lapels of his jacket on Pete’s chest. Human. Patrick can’t get over how _human_ Pete looks. “I’ll tell you after.”

Pete doesn’t look happy. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. When I saw the Master hitting you today, I didn’t like it.”

Patrick closes his eyes. He’d forgotten, somehow, that Pete was there too when the Master’s latest creation was born. He’s seen the whole spectacle. “I’m okay. Andy patched me up.”

Pete continues to frown. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. You didn’t do anything _wrong_.”

“No,” says Patrick, stepping back one last time. “I didn’t.” He squeezes Pete’s hand. “And neither did you. None of us did.”

Pete’s brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“I know,” says Patrick. He squeezes Pete’s hand before slowly letting go. “You will. You catch on way quicker than I ever did. Get the others. Joe and Andy will know what to do.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” whispers Pete.

“It’s okay.” Patrick offers him a smile. “I’ve got a plan.”

The Master’s floor is oddly quiet compared with the rest of the castle. It’s the top floor, not counting the tower. There are gaudy rooms here for the Master’s more successful experiments, but not one of them is in use right now. Patrick can’t image they’d want to be any where near the sounds that are coming from the end of the hall.

Patrick remembers the path to the Master’s bedroom like it’s engraved in his bones. His feet sweep near silent on the stone floors. He’s taken off his shoes and his jacket. Taken off his tie and his belt. He couldn’t quite manage to bring himself to take off his shirt and pants, but that’s okay. It will have to be enough.

The double doors leading to the Master’s room are closed. It does little to muffle the grunts coming from the other side. Patrick recognizes the Master’s voice instantly, shouting things, flinging names. His eyes close when he hears the frightened gasps of the creature on the other side of the door. Rocky.

Patrick has a a bit of the herbs Joe gave him earlier in his back pocket.He hopes it will be enough to get Rocky calmed down and out of pain to soldier down the stairs.

In Patrick’s other pocket lies the vial. It’s empty now. Patrick hopes Andy and Joe are right. Just once, he knows which way he wants the coin toss to fall.

Patrick breathes very deliberately before raising his fist to knock.

“Who _is_ it?”

The Master’s voice cracks out furious and sharp. Patrick hides his trembling fingers in a fist and knocks on the door again. A second later, the worst of the noises cut off. Patrick has barely a moment after that before the door is yanked open.

“Whoever you are, you are going to regret interrupting me!”

The Master is half-naked, makeup smeared and messy across his lips and eyes. His chest is bare and shiny with sweat.

Behind him, quivering on the bed face-down, is Rocky.

“ _You!_ ”

The crack of his Master’s hand is expected. Heat explodes across Patrick’s cheek as his head whips around. He carefully bites his tongue to keep from crying out.

“What do _you_ want?” demands the Master, raising his hand again.

Patrick doesn’t answer. He knows better than that. Instead, he steps closer, ducking his head in the way he knows makes him look smaller, younger. He goes to wrap his arms around his Master’s neck.

The Master is stiff and hot beneath him. Not stiff in the nervous way Pete might be, but stiff in anger. Still, Patrick can’t let himself be afraid. He keeps his eyes on the Master’s lips as he slowly slips closer until his body is pressed up against the Master’s chest.

Almost comically, the Master’s raised hand slowly lowers. Something like cruel amusement crawls across his painted lips, stretching them out.

“Did my new boy make you jealous, pet?”

Patrick makes a high keening noise when the Master’s hand abruptly tangles in his hair, yanking his neck back. He goes with it, even as pin-pricks of pain dance up his scalp. The Master’s voice is low and cruel. His breath warms the side of Patrick’s neck.

“You’re a useless little thing, Patrick. You always have been. It’s almost pitiful how pathetic you truly are, begging for scraps.”

His nails dig into the back of Patrick’s skull. Patrick blinks back tears in the corner of his eyes from the strain, somehow managing to maintain eye contact with the Master regardless. He knows the Master has always like a bit of a struggle. Tears, at least, have never been an issue.

“You poor thing,” the Master croons. His smile is all teeth as he leans in. Patrick’s breath catches.

The next moment the Master’s mouth is on him. It’s nothing like the sweet press Patrick had given to Pete. This is a kiss Patrick knows. Something demanding enough to bleed. Patrick knows he’s only got a moment of time. One second to open his mouth and—

He grabs the Master by the back of his head suddenly, bowing forward. The Master grunts. The nails in Patrick’s hair dig in, pulling, scraping, but Patrick doesn’t let go. He feels the Master’s mouth open against his own and pushes forward with his tongue. The poison held there is bitter. The Master makes a muffled sound, something shocked, but Patrick doesn’t let him go. He wraps his legs around the Master’s waist suddenly, seizing his head with both hands and not caring at all when the Master begins to sputter against his lips.

The Master buckles suddenly. Patrick’s knees crash into the floor as they both drop. The Master’s hands are tearing bloody holes through the back of Patrick’s shirt but he doesn’t care. He grips the back of the Master’s head and doesn’t let him, doesn’t let him separate for a second until every last drop of the poison has been passed between them. Until Patrick’s mouth tastes almost sweeter as the Master chokes.

When the Master starts truly gasping, Patrick finally lets him go. Instantly the Master tries to turn, to throw up, but Patrick is there. He slams his hand over the Master’s painted lips, pressing down hard while the Master’s nails scrabble against his back, against his neck, tearing into him.

The Master’s grunts vibrate under his palm, but already they’re growing weaker, just like Andy had promised. The Master’s eyes are wide, wide, wide as Patrick leans down. His lips bleed when he smiles, but Patrick smiles anyway.

“I’m not your pet,” Patrick hisses. “I’m not your anything anymore.”

White foam leaks from under Patrick’s hand in the Master’s last minute. His legs kick weakly under Patrick’s hips. His shoulders rock against the stones as his eyes roll. And then he goes still.

Patrick doesn’t move for several long, long seconds. The Master’s eyes are open, whites exposed. Patrick looks up to follow that dead gaze and finds Rocky half-sat up on the bed, watching them. His face is worried, hurt, uncomprehending. He’s barely a few hours into the world.

It’s Rock that finally makes Patrick let the Master go. He gets up from the floor and doesn’t look down at all as he crosses the room. Rocky pulls away, startled when Patrick touches him, but Patrick knows what to do with new creatures. He shushes him gently, then offers out his hand.

“Come on. Up you get. It’s time to go.”

Rocky stares at him, dry-eyed. Patrick wonders if he too, doesn’t know how to blink yet. He sighs as he climbs off of the bed, wandering around the room until he finds one of the Master’s robes draped over the back of a chair. He brings it back over, wrapping it around Rocky’s shoulders. For all that Rocky is bigger than him, there’s nothing big about the way he looks at Patrick.

When Rocky’s eyes drop to the Master, Patrick knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“We can’t stay here. I’m sorry, but we can’t. The Master is dead. That means he won’t ever get up again. But you will. Come on. Here we go.”

Slowly, Patrick gets Rocky off the bed and tied into the robe. Together they step over the Master’s expression of shock until their out of the room and the Master’s dull eyes are left staring at nothing. Rocky can barely walk, but that’s to be expected from a new experiment anyway. Patrick takes him to the elevator rather than risking the stairs. They descent in a shivering silence.

“It’s okay,” Patrick promises, as they reach the ground floor. “It’s okay, Rocky.”

There are still shrieks of laughter happening in the ballroom. Patrick steps out with Rocky leaning on his side and almost instantly Andy is there, the most thunderous expression Patrick’s ever seen on his face.

“Jesus,” Andy whispers, immediately pulling Patrick in for a hug. He doesn’t seem to care if he gets Rocky in there too. His arms close tight and warm around them both. “Jesus, Patrick. I thought you were dead. When Pete said—“

Patrick jerks back. “Where’s Pete?”

“He’s outside, getting the others to Joe’s cabin. Patrick. What the hell is going on? This isn’t the plan.”

Patrick ignores the question. If Andy doesn’t understand why Patrick couldn’t wait, why the plan was a failure the second it allowed even one more night of this, then Andy never understood a single thing about him. Patrick doesn’t know if that’s true or not. He’d like to think not. That’s why he trusts Andy enough to gently push Rocky from his shoulder towards him. “Take Rocky. He needs you. He’s hurt.”

Rocky’s fingers dig into Patrick’s shoulders, reluctant to be pulled away. Patrick tries not to wince when they touch the furrows the Master dug into his back. “It’s okay, Rocky. It’s okay. Go with Andy. He’ll take care of you.”

Andy catches Patrick’s wrist as Patrick starts to walk away. He releases it quickly once Patrick jerks and glares at him, but doesn’t relent on his gaze. “Where are you going? If the Master’s guests find out what you just did—“

“Keep the others in the cabin,” says Patrick simply, stepping away. “I’m trusting you with them, Andy. No one else is going to get hurt.”

Andy swallows and stares at him like he’s never seen Patrick before. Maybe he hasn’t. Not the real him. Patrick certainly hadn’t. After a moment, Andy nods.

Patrick waits no more time. He turns and marches off towards the staircase. He’s not leaving until every last one of them is out. No one else gets hurt. Not one.

Patrick looks carefully around the ballroom, searching for any more blonde heads, before finally closing the doors. The party is nearly dead inside. Joe’s herbs are finally doing their real work, sending the party goes into a deep slumber even where they slouch against the ballroom floor.

There are no locks in the Master’s castle, but Patrick breaks a heavy iron ornament off the wall and threads it through the door handles to the ballroom. It won’t last for long, but Patrick doesn’t need it too. Just long enough to finish what he started.

When he walks through the foyer of the castle the entire building is quiet all around him. From the stairwell, he can smell the first hint of smoke in the air and smiles. There’s a reason why he started on the top floors first.

He’s surprised then when he steps outside the front doors to find someone there waiting for him. Pete’s teeth flash white in the dark as Patrick steps outside, closing the castle’s doors behind him.

“Patrick,” Pete breathes. He’s instantly there, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick hisses and Pete pulls off immediately, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine,” says Patrick, gripping Pete’s arms. “How are you? Are the others out?”

“Andy did a headcount,” Pete says, not giving up his concerned look even as he nods. “We were just waiting on you.”

“I’m almost done,” says Patrick. He holds out his hand. “Walk with me?”

Pete grins brightly at him, and then hand is there curling their fingers together. Just this once, Patrick lets himself be charmed.

They walk bare foot over the wet grass. The moon is high in the night sky, but Patrick feels calm. He’s not afraid if it touches him. He feels Pete tense when they get closer to their destination, but Patrick doesn’t let him go. He just pulls him up until they’re standing outside of the kennels where the Master’s dogs lay.

“You’re sure everyone is inside?” Patrick asks, squeezing Pete’s hand.

Pete looks over at him with wide eyes. Patrick can see him catching on. He shakes his head. “Andy wouldn’t let them leave. He barely let me go and that’s only because I refused to listen to him. He wouldn’t let the others out. Not that they’re trying.”

Patrick’s lips quirk up. “Rulebreaker.”

Pete blinks at that, almost startled, before something of a smile smirk across his face as well. It’s a new look on his face, but it suits him well. “Andy says we don’t have to listen to the rules anymore. Not the inside ones. He says _you_ changed that.”

“Yeah well,” Patrick turns for just a second, burying his face in Pete’s warm chest and breathing in his smell, “I told you Andy was a smart man.”

They climb on top of the kennels together. The dogs know they’re there. They whine incessantly, jumping at the walls, confused and excited. From the top of the kennels Patrick has just enough reach to undo the simple lock and open the gate.

The dogs go bounding out and into the night. Pete and Patrick cling to each other as the kennels empty from beneath them, neither one of them saying anything until the last of the dogs are free. They’ll circle the castle until morning, Patrick knows, preying on anything that comes sneaking out of it.

From high up above them, smoke begins pouring out of the castle starting with the very highest tower.It’s will only be a few more minutes until the first bouts of screaming begins as the party guests wake to a very different castle.

“The dogs will get them,” whispers Patrick as he and Pete huddle on the roof of the kennels, warm with real clothes despite their bare feet. “None of them will ever hurt us again.”

Pete shivers against him. Pete extends his arm, pulling him in. They lean against each other, not doing anything else. Patrick has never had touch like this. Neither of them have.

“Is that bad?” Pete asks quietly, “that I want them all gone?”

Patrick twines their fingers back together, “I’ll keep your a secret,” says Patrick, “Just so long as you keep mine.”

Pete sighs and burrows against his side. He nods, small and soft, looking up at Patrick from behind his bangs. “I don’t think I care about being good or bad anymore,” he confides.

“You’re good,” Patrick disagrees. “You’ve always been good.”

Patrick pulls Pete in closer, then tips them back, all the way back, until they’re flat on their backs against the roof watching the stares and the smoke fill up the night. Patrick turns on his side, until he can look at the slope of Pete’s nose instead and the little peaks of his lips.

“I think it’s time for later now, Pete,” says Patrick almost shyly, “if you still wanted to talk?”

Pete’s head turns too, gifting him with smile so bright Patrick wants to wrap it up and keep it forever.

He decides right then and there that this moment, this memory, will be the first real thing he ever calls _mine._


End file.
